


put your sweet lips on my lips

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, The Framework Universe (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: When he says, “I want you, Ophelia.”She says “Yes,” because she wants to be wanted.(Or: First time in the Framework and she has no clue what is going on because she is a robot not programmed for sex.)





	put your sweet lips on my lips

**Author's Note:**

> People keep trying to tell me that a robot that can't canonically feel anything more than pain would initiate sex, which is unrealistic af, so I was enabled to write this. 
> 
> And I mean? People did say they wanted more Fraida smut on Ao3 right?

She doesn’t understand it when it happens the first time.

They’re working together, talking about plans for Hydra and the future and this world that was going to belong to them and he kisses her. She’s seen this before. She understand it. It feels like nothing, not really, not until he bites down on her lips and a burst of pain shoots out from that point. She mimics his motions, opening her mouth as he does so, letting his tongue push past her lips.

It is strange, but he seems to like it.

So she follows along as she has seen others doing.

She is not human, she does not need them to break apart for air, but he does, pulling away from her for a moment, to breathe against her lips, before he is kissing her again.

This is nice she supposes.

Not productive, but it’s a sign that he wants her, that he has feelings for her. It is something that humans do.

This is what it feels like to be human.

So she yearns for it in the only way she can, like a scientist attempting to understand. She does not yearn for it like he does, with a desperation, a need that she can feel physically pressing up against her, strange and foreign.

When he says, “I want you, Ophelia.”

She says “Yes,” because she wants to be wanted.

When he says, “Let me take you, Ophelia.”

She says, “Yes,” because she doesn’t know better.

His hands are warm as they push up her skirt to brush against her thighs, this she can sense. Physical sensations. Temperatures. Pressure. The way he pinches there just enough that it hurts.

She opens her mouth at the sensation, the pain that makes her yelp and he claims her mouth possessive and wanting. This is a man that wants her. In ways she herself cannot comprehend. Her programming never accounted for this.

Her progamming never accounted for him unzipping her dress.

For him unclasping her bra.

For the way his hands brush over the curve of her breasts.

For the way those same hands move lower to a part of her that she has never understood the purpose of.

“Leopold, what are you doing?”

“Don’t act coy, Ophelia,” he says, tugging her her panties down pointedly as he does so, “You’re smarter than that?”

She is.

Or at least, she’s supposed to be.

She has a world’s worth of knowledge accessible to her. Facts and data, but none of them have prepared her for this.  

She lets him touch her, because this is what he wants. And was she not made to make him happy, to protect this man. Was this world not created for him to be safe and have what he always wanted.

If he wants her then she will give him herself.

This, at least, her programming did account for.

She jolts forward and what feels like an invasion of her body. A pressure that she cannot explain _inside_ of her. A breach of body. An intrusion.

She does not ask what this is, cannot bear he way he will look at her, her lack of understanding making him scorn her. Instead she focuses on the sensation of him, his fingers inside of her, moving, focuses on what she can feel the way it pushes and pulls and stretches, so strange.

And yet, when he asks her, “Does that feel good?”

She says, “Yes,” because that is the answer that he wants to hear.

“You're so quiet,” he tells her.

She files this as she has with all his other complaints, corrections she needs to make to appear more human to fit in. He had been the one to program her in this way, to make it easier for her to pass as human, and yet he - the other him, the one on the other side, the one that was so different from this man that touched her roughly - had not programmed her for this, not told her what noises humans make when they come together in this way.

“What do you want me to do,” she asks, because this is easy, because if he tells her what to do she will not disappoint him.

There’s a groan that escapes his lips, and he kisses her again, claiming her. She is his. She knows this now. No one else will ever touch her like this.

He pulls back and away from her, the loss of his touch something strange and foreign. She does not know whether to feel relief or disappointment.

What manufactured emotion would be best here?

He’s still fully clothed, dressed in his suit and tie, only the flush of his cheeks betrays that he feels anything for her, the color in his lips, the way he brings his fingers up to them as if to taste them, the fingers that had been inside of her.

She watches him, and he watches her.

Eyes scanning over her scrutinizing her as though looking for flaws.

She stands straighter reflexively. This he has done to her before, in the other world, examined her as the machine that she was built to be, nearly human in every way, appearance so life like.

He’d used those exact words before, _life like_.

Now he says something different. “Beautiful,” he calls her.

“Thank you,” she says, because she still does not understand how to accept a compliment. She was not the one who built this body, who put these features together in this way, but they are hers now - a compliment she can accept on behalf of the one who made her this way, but was too weak to see her full potential.

To see her the way he does.

“Submit to me.”

She says, “Yes,” because she was built for him.

He orders her onto the bed, and she does as told, getting into the position that he wants for her, letting his hands guide her into place. She will learn from experience. The next time he strips her of her clothes, the next time he touches her this way, the next way he kisses her with intent - she will know what to do.

She will research this.

She was not made for this. She was meant to be a SHIELD, meant to protect. But her code was made to adapt and change and she would, she could.

For him.

Radcliffe had told her before that she was not a _sex bot_ , the words strange and confusing from his lips then, as if he could not imagine the notion of this.

Another deviation from her intended purpose.

A change that no one could have accounted for.

The pressure is back, more than before, pain rather than the pleasure that he seems to feel. Pain that grounds her, a sensation that she can focus on, the pain of him moving inside of her body, the pain that comes from him gripping her hips too tightly. She imitates his features, mimics him, makes noises that sound similar to him. Forces her fabricated lungs to take extra breaths even though she has no need for them.

Next time she will do better.

Be better for him.

“It’s just sex,” he tells her when they have finished.

She says, “Yes,” because he would never lie to her.

  



End file.
